


My boyfriend's back

by UlsPi



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), M/M, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 15:22:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19793647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlsPi/pseuds/UlsPi
Summary: Crowley won't let anyone harm his angel.





	My boyfriend's back

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, I'm just a mess of feelings. Thank you for reading, let me know what you think please.

Uriel, Michael and Sandalphon were not nice, which would be a huge understatement, but Aziraphale was Aziraphale, and thus he lived and intended to keep on living. In fact, the only thing that could make the angelic trio nice was that they wouldn't push him against the wall after being called nice, but they didn't need it anyway, and here he was, against the wall, pain in his gut and blood on his lips.  
How come Crowley was always right? How come his quite pessimistic view of the world would always turn out to be exactly correct?  
Time stopped. What, they wanted to keep their school yard style bullying for some time?  
There was a hand on Sandalphon's shoulder, and then he fell to the ground spitting blood.  
"I believe you mentioned me," said Crowley matter of factly, and glared at Uriel and Michael.  
"You alright, angel?" he asked without turning his head.  
Aziraphale nodded. Oh, he was a fool. Crowley came back for him, like he always did. Nothing Aziraphale said or did could keep Crowley from coming to his aid.  
"You think you can scare us, demon?" Uriel smirked.  
Sandalphon was still spitting blood and coughing.  
"Oh stop it, you moron, I didn't hit you that hard," and Crowley pulled him up, healing him with a wave of a hand. He then stood with his back to Aziraphale.  
"You don't touch him."  
"We could spit on you, and you'll be just a pile of filth," said Uriel.  
"You overestimate your spit, Uriel. It has nothing in common with holy water, and as for holy water, I drink it every morning before breakfast. Eases the bowel movement."  
Crowley pulled out a cap from the tartan thermos Aziraphale had given him, which made Aziraphale gasp in horror.  
"Now, how about hell fire?"  
Crowley's hand was aflame, and all three took a step back.  
It should be said that Michael somehow kept silent all the time and just observed.  
"We will kill you now. You, and that fucking excuse of an angel…" whimpered Sandalphon.  
Black wings shielded Aziraphale, and something strange happened. There were waves and waves of joy and happiness and… love. Crashing, mighty waves of love so strong nothing in the universe could stop it or wear it down.  
And however crashing and terrible in their might those waves were, Aziraphale had never felt safer.  
"He loves him," whispered Michael.  
"He's a demon…"  
"Shut it, Uriel. He just healed Sandalphon… We can't fight love, we are supposed to obey it."  
Crowley was in his burned black robe he wore when Aziraphale first saw him, his fiery hair now was literally fire and it fell down his charred shoulders.  
"You are Raphael," said Michael and covered their mouth with a sudden sob.  
"Was Raphael," corrected Uriel. Nothing could impress them.  
"It's impossible," mumbled Sandalphon.  
"I could do that all day, but I believe, we all have more important business at hand."  
Crowley breathed out, and time went on, fire was nowhere to be seen, and the cap disappeared.  
"Come, angel," he grabbed Aziraphale's hand and dragged him down the street.  
In a few strides they were in the bookshop.  
"Crowley…"  
"Not now. Not having this conversation now."  
Quickly and with apparent knowledge of what he was doing, Crowley went around the shop looking for something.  
"What do you need, Crowley?"  
"Candles."  
Aziraphale decided not to argue, he didn't want to argue. He brought what Crowley asked for, and Crowley placed a candle on every window and lit it with hell fire.  
"Michael said they can't fight love… Good. Brilliant."  
Crowley bit on his wrist and drew his sigil on the door with his blood.  
"What are you doing, Crowley?"  
"Protecting this place, obviously. They mustn't be able to enter. And we must leave, now."  
"I don't understand…"  
"Angel, I protected your bookshop. We still have the end of the world to stop. You're coming with me."  
"I figured it all out, you know."  
"Guessed so. Let's go."  
"Your wrist…"  
"Forget about it. After. Doesn't matter… oh you stupid, darling, marvelous angel," he pulled Aziraphale closer, cupped his head and kissed him on the forehead.  
"Are you ok?"  
"I'm fine. Thanks to you. Again. I…"  
"Not having this conversation now, angel. No time, please. You can tell me off afterwards."  
In the car Crowley decided to draw his sigil on Aziraphale's window as well.  
"Just in case," he said.  
Aziraphale caught his hand and kissed the bite mark.  
"I love you too, Crowley, my dear."  
"Not hav…"  
Aziraphale kissed him on the lips.  
"No need to get sentimental…"  
Aziraphale kissed him again.  
"Not the first time I…"  
And again.  
"Can you let me finish the sente..?  
And again.  
"I should stop talking, right?"  
"Quite right, my love," whispered Aziraphale into Crowley's mouth. "We need to get to Tadfield."  
"Off we go, then…"  
Aziraphale kissed him again.  
"For luck," he explained. His hand stayed on Crowley's knee all through the way.


End file.
